


Advent

by gwishin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Chris still has that ass, Future Fic, JJ is still an ass, M/M, Otabek low key wants the ass, minor Otabek/Mila, minor Yuri/OC
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwishin/pseuds/gwishin
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky had been dreaming of his Olympic debut ever since he put on his first pair of skates. However his childlike fantasies had never included nearly catching his two coaches in the act, being stalked by an overly enthusiastic hockey player, ending up as the best man in his worst enemy’s wedding, watching Chris do unmentionable things to the ice, or falling head over heels in love with his best friend (who might or might not be dating his teammate)Otherwise known as Yuri’s misadventures during the 2018 Winter Olympics.





	1. Chapter 1

It started out with a very innocent text message from Yuri.

**To: Otabek**  
**Flying into Pyeongchang tomorrow at 10 am. Hope to see you there <3**

Only it wasn’t very innocent and Yuri hadn’t been the one to send it.

In fact, Yuri hadn’t talked to Otabek in over two months. Not after he had discovered the older skater kissing Mila in an empty room backstage at the Grand Prix Finals back in December. Nobody knew that he had seen them…well nobody but Yuuri, who had stumbled upon the half-frozen, mostly catatonic younger skater sitting outside of the hotel lobby that night, just staring off with a blank expression on his face. It had taken 4 cups of hot chocolate in the hotel cafe ( _something they both mentally promised to never mention to Lilia_ ) before Yuuri was able to drag any information out of the surly teen.

What followed was one of the most awkward conversations that the city of Vancouver had ever hosted. Even though he had gotten lucky with Viktor, Yuuri had never considered himself to be some sort of expert about love. So his clumsy fumbling advice coupled with Yuri’s loud and indignant cries that this had nothing to do with love _how gross not everyone is gross like you, you big gross katsudon_ , made it so that nothing really effective had happened that night. And Yuuri had been trying to remedy the situation ever since.

“Yurio never types that properly. And a heart? Otabek's going to know something is up, solnishko”

Yuuri froze, guiltily, his fingers hovering over the trackpad of Yuri’s phone as Viktor unceremoniously draped himself over his back. Fluffy silver hair tickled the side of his quickly heating cheeks.

“I would expect this kind of trickery from me” Viktor continued, voice sounding way too amused for Yuuri’s liking “but never from you”

Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek as he sent the text message, proper grammar and all, before tossing the phone back into the abandoned gym bag that lay open on the floor in front of him. “I’m just worried about Yurio. He’s been so grumpy ever since Vancouver”

“He’s always grumpy”

“But not like this and you know it, Viktor”

“Does this have something to do with that mysterious incident at the Grand Prix Finals that you won’t tell anyone about?” Viktor asked, eyebrows raised even though Yuuri couldn’t see his expression.

“Don’t you even try to ask me about that again. Yurio would murder me if he knew I told you, and that’s not even a joke. Remember last week when we found him in our kitchen switching all our skim milk with half and half because he thought he heard me tell Lilia that he was getting fat when all I said was that he was getting _another cat_ and…”

“Solnishko, I don’t care about knowing” Viktor interrupted. Yuuri snorted and was promptly ignored, “but I’m just worried about Mila. Yurio has been sending her murderous glares for the past two months and the poor girl has no idea why”

“I think she probably has some idea why” Yuuri huffed. He had nothing against Mila and even felt sorry that the girl had been on the receiving end of Yuri’s death glares. The two Russian skaters had always had a strange brother-sister dynamic and Yuuri knew that Yuri’s not-so-random mood change bothered Mila more than she let on. The girl had no idea that Yuri had seen her that night two months ago, but surely she had to have some idea of what would cause such sudden anger…

“So it does have something to do with Mila!” Viktor cried out happily. Yuuri groaned and buried his face in his arms. “I’m guessing it’s about how Mila has a crush on a certain Kazakh skater that you were so sneakily texting?”

Yuuri mumbled something into his arm.

Viktor sighed “Ah to be young and in love again…”

“What are you two idiots talking about?”

Both men turned in time to see Yuri storming into the dressing room, tight practice shirt soaked through with sweat and a leopard print hoodie hanging casually off one of his shoulders. He had changed in the past couple of years: shot up quicker than any of them had thought he would, his limbs becoming longer and even more lanky in a body that still refused to fill out. His eighteenth birthday was only a few weeks after the Olympics and he was still getting used to skating with his ever-changing body.

“We were just discussing how we should do your hair in Pyeongchang, kotyonok” Viktor lied casually. Yuri’s hair, like the rest of him, had grown at an alarming rate and now lay at a comfortable point halfway down his back.

Viktor sometimes thought it was cute, how similar him and Yuri looked at 17.

“Yeah, like there’s any way in hell that I’m taking hairstyle advice from a balding guy”

Okay, never mind, Viktor took that back. There wasn’t anything cute about Yuri at all.

“Did you finish practicing your short program for the team skate?” Yuuri quickly asked, moving the topic as far away as possible from Viktor’s hairline. The older man tended to blurt out the most ill-timed things whenever he felt insulted.

Yuri sneered as he dramatically flopped onto the bench next to two other men. “Yeah. It’s total shit, though. I don’t know why you two lazy asses couldn’t have just choreographed it like you did with my free skate”

Both Yuuri and Viktor looked at the younger boy as if he had just sprouted horns.

 “You…specifically, and rather graphically, told us that you would rather slice your head open with your own skates than have us come within 10 meters of your short program” Yuuri gently reminded.

“You said that we were boring old men and that the short program we wanted to give you was something only boring old men would like and that unless every judge at the Olympics was a grandpa, we would make you lose the gold” Viktor added on.

“You wanted me to skate to fucking Elvis” Yuri seethed.

“What’s wrong with Elvis? I like Elvis” Viktor asked.

“Yeah, well no one under the age of 40 does”

“How…old do you think I am, kotyonok?”

“Ancient” Yuri bit out. “Besides, the fact you two have me dancing to some gay shit from Romeo and Juliet for my free skating program is bad enough”

“Language” Yuuri sighed. “And you’re the last one to be talking about _gay shit_ seeing as how you picked a Beyonce song to do for your exhibition”

“Oh, I changed that” Yuri said casually, causing both of his coaches to have a mini heart attack. Again.

Viktor clutched at his chest. “You….changed….your exhibition skate…….one….day before….we leave to….”

“I changed it right after the Grand Prix Finals, grandpa, don’t be so dramatic. Besides, it’s just the exhibition skate. It doesn’t even count for anything”

“What did you change it to?” Yuuri asked, the dangerous look in the young skater’s eyes already telling him he wasn’t going to like the answer at all.

“Black Mamba. From the Kill Bill soundtrack. I thought it was more fitting for my situation”

“You thought a rap song about killing people you hate with swords was more fitting for your situation?” Yuuri deadpanned.

“Don’t forget the having sex with tons of women part, either”

“He’s all yours, solnishko” Viktor said, standing up and walking away, his hand still clutched to his chest. “I think I really am too old to handle this…”

Yuuri looked at his fiance with pity, feeling a bit sorry for himself too, even though they both had known exactly what they were getting themselves into when they agreed to stay in St Petersburg for a year after retiring to help Lila and Yakov coach Yuri for the 2018 season, which would include the boy’s Olympic debut. Well, that was a little unfair…they knew they were going to get normal surly teen Yuri. They hadn’t anticipated on crazy-self-sabotaging-heartbroken Yuri.

“Yurio, you know that you can’t change your short skate now, right?” Yuuri said. It was a ridiculous question to ask, especially of someone who had won more senior medals in 3 years than most people did in their lifetime. But it was obvious that Yuri wasn’t exactly thinking straight right now.

“Of course I know that. I just think it’s shit” Yuri answered, kicking at the ground.

“You didn’t seem to think it was shit a few months ago”

Yuri made a noncommittal grunting sound as he resolutely dug the toe of his already worn combat boots into the cement floor.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact that Mila was the one who chose the music for it?”

“Why would I care about anything that stupid grandma does, she doesn’t matter to me or anyone else here” Yuri spat out, eyes turning murderous.

Yuuri really wanted to get up and join Viktor in wherever the older man had gone off to, but he also knew that if he didn’t try to take of things now that the whole trip to Pyeongchang would be a continuation of the current nightmare.

“Listen, Yurio. I know that you don’t like Otabek romantically” It was a lie, anyone with eyes could see the idiot Russian teen was head over heels for the idiot Kazakh boy who was just as clueless and oblivious, but Yuuri needed to keep the peace and not blow it up “But you’re obviously angry with him and Mila over what happened in Vancouver. Which is okay” another lie, but who was even counting now “You can’t let them affect you this much, though. Mila is going to be skating in the team trophy event with you so you’ll be spending a lot of time with her…on camera. You have to at least play nice”

Yuri scowled.

“And, if nothing else” Yuuri continued “At least don’t let them distract you from the ultimate goal. Viktor and I only agreed to stay behind and coach you for a year because we knew that you can get it. _The Triple Crown_ ”

“The Triple Crown” Yuri repeated, his kicking feet stilling as the words left his mouth. The Triple Crown—a gold at the Grand Prix Final, the Olympics, and Worlds—was something that a skater rarely received over the course of their whole careers. But, of course, Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t content with just being like other skaters. He wanted to get the full Triple Crown in one season, something no one had done since the 70s. And something no one as young as him had done ever.

“You already took gold in Prix this year” Yuuri said, nudging the boy a little. He took it as a good sign that Yuri didn’t throw him off or hiss at him for it. “And both your short and free skates have the highest technical points….even if they’re shit” 

The words seemed to work their magic as Yuri visibly deflated, the defiant tenseness of his shoulders giving way to a more relaxed posture, his feet resuming their casual kicking against the ground. He sat in silence for a few seconds as the color started to return to his whitened knuckles.

“I’m still skating to Black Mamba” he grunted out.

Yuuri just grinned and shook his head almost affectionately, thinking in the back of his mind that if someday—in the far off future—him and Viktor ever adopted a kid, they’d already be experts in dealing with the moody teenage years.

“Whatever you want, Yurio”

~~~

Their flight the next day pulled in at 10:30, half an hour delayed because of icy conditions in St Petersburg, but still giving the Russian delegation enough time to get their luggage and settle into the Olympic village before opening ceremonies that night. The government had chartered a plane just for them so the ride over had been full of nothing but loud, obnoxious chattering from overly-excited and adrenaline pumped athletes.

Yuri had slipped his headphones on before they had even boarded the plane and spent the entire flight crouched down low in his seat, a tiger print blanket covering 99% of his body as he pretended to sleep. It was no secret that the other athletes had a bit of a fascination with the so called ‘Fairy of Russia’, which was understandable. At 17, Yuri was well on his way to becoming one of Russia’s most legendary figure skaters and had gained enough company endorsements and sponsorships to have become a bit of a celebrity figure in Russia. The young boy’s face was a common site on billboards, television, and even in the supermarket—advertising everything from soap to coffee.

And, Viktor noted with a bit of a smile as the grumpy teen made his way through immigration, underneath all the scowls and black animal prints, Yuri Plisetsky was a strikingly handsome boy. The tall, willowy ballerina build of his body contrasted with the fierceness of his eyes and strong cut of his jaw. Where Viktor had been a soft and graceful beauty, Yuri was an ice cold one—and it seemed to attract a lot of attention from the fellow athletes of Team Russia.

“Plisetsky!” Alexi, a hockey player with floppy brown hair and brilliant blue eyes, looped his arm over Yuri’s shoulder with a good-natured smile “who did they assign to be your roommate? I heard that all the skaters are staying near each other since we all compete in the same venue”

“Do I know you?” Yuri spat out.

Alexi gasped in mock hurt. “Our training rinks are near each other, so I’ve seen you around all the time. I even went to Chelyabinisk to cheer you on in the Russian Championship.”

Yuri just grunted. He shrugged his shoulders in an effort to buck the other boy’s hands off of him but Alexi held on steadfast.

“We’re bringing 19 people on our team, so I volunteered to be the odd man out for room assignments since I’m the captain. I got assigned to the same room as Maxim Voronov, the speed skater. You know him? Total tool. I’ll see whoever you’re assigned with and ask them if they’ll be cool with trading. It would be fun to room together, wouldn’t it?”

Yuri looked as though he was three seconds away from murdering the boy, which was Viktor’s cue to step in and separate the cheerful hockey player from his homicidal young student.

“Alexi, your teammates are looking for you. Something about luggage” Viktor said. The boy quickly said bye to the two skaters as he ran over to the baggage claim.

“It wouldn’t hurt you to make some friends on the team, kotyonok” Viktor sighed.

Yuri bristled “I don’t want to be friends with that psycho! What’s he so happy about anyways? Probably some type of creepy ass stalker”

“Alexi Petrov, youngest professional hockey player in Russia. And apparently a fan” Viktor said with a smirk “I saw him buying a poster of yours at the championships”

“Oh so _you’re_ the stalker now?”

“I wasn’t stalking him. I just thought it was kind of cute”

“Not everyone is like you and wants to bang one of their crazed fans, grandpa” Yuri bit out. Viktor narrowed his eyes and let a sly grin creep onto his face.

“Now who said anything about banging, kotyonok? I just said you should be friends. Not my fault your teenage hormones are out of control”

“Do you actually want to get murdered, Nikiforov? Because…”

“Haha, no murdering today, please” Yuuri interjected as he stepped between the two of them. His Russian had improved over the past two years he had spent in St Petersburg and though it still wasn’t great, being around Yuri made _murder_ a word that he learned quite early on.

“Your luggage all came” Yuuri said, waving his hand towards a pile of leopard print suitcases. “Yakov said that he’d take them through customs and then send them over to the village. _We_ are going to meet Phichit. He told me Seung gil showed him all the best places to eat last time he came to Korea…”

“It’s not even 11 yet” Yuri pointed out, but let the older man grab him by the shoulder and lead him out into the arrival area anyways.

Yuuri smiled at the boy “If we went to the olympic village with everyone else right now, you’d be roped into going to the Russian team lunch and I figured you wanted to avoid that. So I asked Phichit to take us somewhere else instead”

Yuri felt his cheeks heat up a little at the older man’s thoughtfulness. Sometimes the gross old katsudon could actually maybe be okay. He mumbled something that sounded a bit like a _‘thanks’_ , which earned him 2 straight minutes of coo-ing from both Yuuri and Viktor.

By the time that they reached arrivals, Yuri was ready to explode. But all the anger and annoyance swirling around in side of him suddenly froze ice-cold as his eyes zeroed in on a very familiar man.

_Was that…_

“Yo Otabek!” Viktor cried out, waving his arms as he followed Yuri’s laser-sharp stare to where the young man was standing amongst the crowd of people waiting for family and friends. “What are you doing here?”

It was a valid question. Otabek hated airports. Hated anywhere that there were large crowds. It was a weird quality to have in an athlete—a figure skater in particular, but it was just one of the many weird things about Otabek that they all had learned to accept over the years. The man never felt comfortable in crowds.

And even so, there he was walking towards them, his clothes a little too rumpled and his hair a little too mussed and fluffy than what he normally allowed it to be like. His eyes looked tired.

“What time did your flight come in?” Yuuri asked, taking in the boy’s appearance.

“Seven” Otabek said simply. Yuuri winced. The flight from Almaty was 6 hours at least, which meant that Otabek had been up since before midnight.

“Seven?” Viktor asked “And you’ve been here in the airport since then? Where’s the rest of your team at? Your coach?”

“The village.” He turned to Yuri, who has been standing rather frozen the entire time “I…got your text yesterday so I thought I would wait here. For you”

Yuri was silent for a moment before muttering a rather sharp “the fuck?”

It was the first thing that he had said to Otabek in months and the Kazakh skater couldn’t help but think it was a rather Yuri-like way to break the silence.

“I never texted you, what are you on about?” Yuri said. 

Otabek’s brows drew together, his mouth pulled tight—the corners drooping every so slightly in his version of a frown. He pulled out his phone and quickly tapped onto his messenger app, showing Yuri the text in question.

The blonde teen read it, ears and cheeks heating up a terrible shade of red when he reached the heart at the end of the message. Oh, someone was definitely going to get murdered today.

“Oi, you fucking old man…”

“It wasn’t me” Viktor said, backing away quickly with his hands waving in the air. He nodded his head in the direction of Yuuri, who just gaped at him.

“Viktor! At least wait to be threatened before you sell me out like that”

“Listen, solnishko, you are the light and love of my life but you know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of those kicks and you also know I have a bad back”

“Oh so _now_ you have a bad back? You didn’t seem to have a bad back last night when you…”

“You two nasties did it last night?” Yuri yelled, eyes turning even more murderous “when you were in MY APARTMENT!?!”

The two bickering coaches fell silent in horror at the seething tomcat in front of them.

“Ha…haha….uh, I think we forgot one of our suitcases in the baggage claim area” Yuuri said, grabbing onto the front of Viktor’s sweater and quickly pulling him away “how forgetful!”

“Haha yeah, you know us, always so forgetful” Viktor added in with the fakest of laughs as he clasped Yuuri’s arm and moved even faster “We gotta go get our bag, you two head on over to the village, okay, we’ll meet you there later!”

They were both gone before Yuri even had the chance to blink. “What the ever-loving fuck….”

“So you didn’t send that text?”

Yuri turned back around to find Otabek standing there with that tiny little frown still on his face, apparently completely unaffected by the almost-murder that had been about to unfold before him.

“No. Katsudon must have sent it from my phone”

“Oh” Otabek said, pocketing his phone, frown growing a little deeper. “I should have known by the heart”

“Yeah, like I’d ever send that kind of gross shit” Yuri mumbled, not really knowing what to do or say. He wanted to go away, but of course those two idiots had all but stranded him in a Korean airport without any sort of transportation…

“You haven’t been sending me anything lately” Otabek said. His voice didn’t sound accusing or sad or any sort of discernible emotion. Normally Yuri appreciated the other boy’s calmness, but right now it just felt infuriating.

“I’ve been busy practicing”

“You always sent me messages even when you were practicing”

“Well this is the fucking Olympics. Practicing for it is different”

Otabek didn’t say anything for a few seconds. The crowd shifted around them and Yuri couldn’t help but feel a pang when the Kazakh skater winced the slightest bit at the press of all the people against them. It must really have been uncomfortable for him to be there…

“You’re not upset at me?” Otabek finally asked. Yuri narrowed his eyes.

“Do I have a reason to be upset at you?”

“I don’t know” Otabek never really knew what Yuri was thinking. It wasn’t that the Russian skater didn’t have emotions—it was that he had too many that moved through him too fast. Over the course of their 3 year friendship, Otabek had gotten better at reading Yuri’s emotions, but they still overwhelmed him at times.

Yuri bristled and looked away, staring holes into the ground. He knew that he was stupid for being so mad, that there was no reason for him to be so mad. Of course he wished that Otabek had told him that he was dating Mila—they were best friends, after all. Didn’t best friends share this kind of thing? And there was still some confusing part of him that felt a burning anger whenever he thought about that kiss he had accidentally witnessed.

But…this was Otabek. His only friend. And he found it impossible to stay angry at him. Especially when he was standing right in front of him—disheveled, tired, obviously a little panicked and uncomfortable—waiting in a place he hated for hours, by himself, just to greet Yuri.

So Yuri just looked back up at his friend and gave him a little smile. “I’m not upset, Beka. Just been really busy practicing. I’ve got to win gold or else I’ll never hear the end of it from those two idiots”

Otabek returned the smile. His eyes remained the same, but his shoulders sagged down a little in relief as he heard that familiar nickname leave Yuri’s mouth. “Don’t let them stress you, Yuratchka. Everyone knows you’re the best skater in the league”

Yuri grinned. “You’re just saying that so I’ll let my guard down and you can steal my medal”

Just then, the rest of Team Russia came barreling out into arrivals—a sea of white and red, talking just as loudly as ever. Both Yuri and Otabek winced at the crowd of them.

“Hey, let’s get out of here” Yuri said quickly. Otabek was in the process of nodding and collecting his backpack when Alexi came bounding over to them as fast as his large, bulky frame would let him. Yuri was already as tall as Viktor, but Alexi was taller still.

“Plisetsky!” he cried out once again. Yuri tried his hardest to stop himself from groaning aloud. Viktor and his piggy would be proud. “I managed to talk to my coach and…oh, who are you?” he asked, switching to english as he looked over Otabek.

Otabek glanced at the other man impassively, not letting the uncomfortableness of being looked up and down show on his face. He was used to people making judgements based on how he looked. He never said much to strangers, so it was the only thing people really had to go off of.

“Otabek Altin”

“Not a Russian name”

“Because I am not a Russian” Otabek answered, in perfect Russian. He didn’t offer anything else and the other boy looked bit taken aback.

“Well…I’m Alexi” he said after a few uncomfortable minutes. He turned back to Yuri. “Anyways, I talked to my coach and he was able to switch our rooms around so now we’re rooming together. It’ll be fun! You coming to the village with us?”

Yuri looked at Otabek and then back at Alexi “I’ll come later. Tell them to leave my key with Yakov”

It was the most that Yuri had ever said to Alexi and it left the other boy beaming. “Sure! See you later, then!”

The large boy turned and went back to his team, the majority who were subtly looking at their captain’s interaction with the ‘Fairy of Russia’ with interest and knowing grins. A couple of them even elbowed a blushing Alexi as he returned. Yuri scoffed at the lot of them. Gross, overgrown, overly-hormonal…

“Who was that?”

Yuri looked back at Otabek, who was staring after Alexi. His face was as blank as always, but his eyes were sharp and intense as they looked over the hockey player.

And the rational part of Yuri wanted to just shrug and say ‘some loser nobody who’s stalking me’ like he normally would…

But the petty part of Yuri, the part that had been roaring with anger and confusion and confused anger ever since he had walked into that seemingly deserted back room at the Grand Prix Finals, caused him to turn back to Otabek with what he hoped was a semi-dreamy expression on his face.

“Oh, that’s Alexi Petrov. Captain of the hockey team. Youngest pro player in Russia” the image of Mila and Otabek kissing burned hot in his mind as he continued talking. “His Olympics practice rink was right next to mine, so we became _really_ good friends lately”

_Who’s keeping things from his best friend now, Beka?_

Otabek’s mouth was a straight line and his face showed no emotions. His fingers gripped his backpack tighter than before, knuckles turning a bit white. “Oh”

Yuri wanted to roll his eyes at the one word answer, but this was Otabek so what did he really expect? He was about to comment on it when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mila and a younger skater laughing and chatting about something as they stood by their luggage.

Yuri quickly turned to Otabek, hoping that the other skater hadn’t noticed Mila yet. Luckily for him, Otabek was still looking over at the hockey players. Yuri did wonder briefly why the other boy was waiting for him instead of Mila. Wouldn’t it make more sense for Otabek to greet his girlfriend at the airport?

But Yuri didn’t want to think about that. For whatever reason, Otabek had chosen him instead of Mila for the day and the young Russian teen would accept it without question. Instead, he just grabbed onto Otabek’s arm and dragged him away from the crowd.

“Let’s get out of here. I swiped the Old Man’s credit card before we got off the plane, so lunch is on me”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solnishko=sunshine  
> Kotyonok=kitten
> 
> Just because Viktor is cheesy like that~^^
> 
> I really wanted to write a fic set at the 2018 Olympics because the mascots are a tiger and a bear, and how much more perfect can that be for this pair?


	2. Chapter 2

 

Lunch was a quick and casual affair, more so than either Yuri or Otabek had planned on it being. Pyeongchang wasn’t exactly an easy place to get to. It was a 60 minute train ride from Incheon international airport on a good day, which the day of the Olympic Opening Ceremony was definitely not. Even though Otabek had spent his 4 hours in the airport wisely and had somehow figured out how to rent a motorcycle, it would still take them a good 45 minutes to reach the Olympic village.

That coupled with the fact that neither of them knew Korean well enough to order at restaurants meant that they somehow found themselves sitting in front of a 7-11 with an assortment of terrible-for-you convenience store food splayed out in front of them.

Otabek watched with wary eyes as Yuri tore the top off of a steaming cup of ramen—one that the cashier had tried to warn them against buying, raising her arms in a X position while repeating ‘too spicy! Too spicy!’ He cringed at the bright red of the soup inside.

“Yuratchka, I don’t know if it’s a good idea to…”

“Don’t you dare become a fun-sucking old man on me, Beka” Yuri warned, wrinkling his nose “I have enough of those in my life already”

“If you manage to kill yourself, I will die along with you” Otabek said. Which was true. Yuri had four coaches, each more protective than the last.

“When you put it that way it sounds like a Romeo and Juliet kind of situation” Yuri said.

“When _you_ put it that way it sounds like you’re actually trying to kill yourself”

Yuri grinned and held the cup up, giving a little mocking ‘cheers’ before tossing his head back and swallowing the molten hot contents in two huge gulps—soup, noodles, and all.

Otabek watched on in silent horror, mouth open wide. Yuri always ate like some sort of starving animal; taking huge bites, never cutting anything or waiting for anything to cool down. On his first trip to Russia after the Grand Prix Finals in Barcelona 3 years back, Otabek had even had the pleasure(?) of witnessing Yuri stuff a whole giant, piping hot pirozhki down his throat followed by a very awkward conversation with the much too innocent 15-year old who was gushing about how he didn’t have a gag reflex.

Yuri was almost 18 now, overgrown and not nearly as innocent, but this disgusting eating habit remained the same. Otabek couldn’t even bring himself to roll his eyes as Yuri took a quick selfie of himself with the now empty ramen cup, posting it on instagram with the caption “Crushed it #spIceTigerofRussia”

“Spice Tiger is a nice touch” Otabek said simply as he finished his sandwich at a normal human being pace.

“Yeah, I thought of it a few weeks back and have just been sitting on it” Yuri mumbled as comments started to come in on his post. Half of Otabek’s face was visible in the background of the picture, which seemed to be the main point of interest to all the commenters.

“Maybe you could go and buy me a coffee and be the _Nice_ Tiger of Russia?”

Yuri scoffed at his best friends’ suggestion. “I told you I have Viktor’s credit card. Take it and go wild. Buy coffee for all of Korea if you want”

Just then a comment from **@y-katsuki** came in **“Glad to see the two of you made up! [^._.^]ﾉ彡”**

“This fucking katsudon” Yuri scowled, slyly copy-pasting the cat emoji into his notes to save for later.

“What did Katsuki do now?” Otabek asked lazily.

“Just leaving stupid shit on my instagram like he always does” Yuri said. Otabek leaned over, head rested comfortably on Yuri’s shoulder, to read the comment. He frowned.

“ _Made up?_ So you were mad at me”

“I wasn’t!”

Otabek raised his eyebrows “Then why did Katsuki say that we made up?”

“Listen, Beka, if you’re trying to ask me why katsudon does any of the weird crap he does, then you’re shit out of luck. Anyone who is willing to marry Viktor Nikiforov is obviously not sane”

“So you don’t know what he means?”

“No” Yuri grumbled, throwing away all their trash and walking towards the bike parked a few feet away from them “let’s get going, I don’t want to be late for the opening ceremony”

The opening ceremony was 6 hours away, but Otabek didn’t comment on that as he nodded and took the keys out of his pocket. It was obvious that Yuri was trying to change the subject and he didn’t know how he felt about it. Of course part of him wanted to know what he had done wrong, what made Yuri ignore him so steadily for the past couple of months. But then the other part of him was just happy that their friendship seemed to be back to normal now and he didn’t want to jeopardize it by bringing up whatever it was that had made Yuri so mad in the first place.

Being with Yuri was a bit like being in a speeding car with no destination. The Russian teen did everything in extremes: he hated strongly, loved even stronger, held grudges like a pro, and was a wonderfully terrible mix of possessive and protective over anything that he cared about. It was always a little terrifying to be with Yuri, but at the same time, it was the most fun that Otabek had ever had.

“Oi, asshole, are we going or not?”

Otabek just grinned and grabbed onto both of their helmets. It was obvious that Yuri didn’t want to talk about the past couple of months and if this is where the wild ride that was Yuri Plistesky was taking him now, then he would go along without any questions.

~~~

“Who’s our flag bearer again?” Yuri asked Viktor as Team Russia assembled in the waiting area outside the arena where the opening ceremonies would be held. They were wearing utterly tragic outfits: big puffy red jackets trimmed in fur and blue pants on underneath. A lady went around passing out knit caps for them to wear and Yuri put his on, tucking all of his hair underneath it as he pulled it down as far as it would go on his face.

These outfits were a catastrophe and there was no was Yuri would let his face be seen on international television while he was wearing this.

“Alexander Zubkov” Viktor answered simply “Bobsleigher”

“Also ancient, I’m assuming” Yuri said, preening internally as he was able to push the hat down until it hit the tip of his nose. “They always pick old, ancient athletes that they feel sorry for to be the flag bearer, don’t they?”

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “I was the flag bearer for Russia in the last Olympics”

Yuri’s smile was the only thing visible on his face. “Exactly”

Viktor rolled his eyes and pushed the hat back up Yuri’s face “We didn’t come down here to give you moral support before your first Olympic Parade of Nations just to be insulted like this, kotyonok”

“You came because they provide free food” Yuri pointed out. His point was proven 5 seconds later as Yuuri walked up to them holding two plates brimming with rice rolls and sausages and a few sad looking vegetables.

“What are the two of you talking about?” Yuuri asked as he slipped a suddenly delighted Viktor one of the plates.

“How gross and old flag bearers are” Yuri said.

Yuuri frowned. “But _Viktor_ was….oh”

“Glad to see you agree with me”

“I wasn’t agreeing with you” Yuuri said quickly, “besides, I know a little something that will probably change your opinion on this subject”

He pointed to the front of the waiting area where a few large screen televisions were set up, a live broadcast of the Parade of Nations playing on it. They were about halfway through the countries but thankfully Russia was far enough down the alphabet that they didn’t have to worry about going for a bit.

Yuri looked up at the TV and saw the last of the Japanese delegation walking across the screen. Kenjirou Minami is there, taking excited photos of everything. His hair still had that ridiculous red streak in it and his build was still small and light—something that Yuri secretly envied.

“Is staring at Minami supposed to make me change my opinion?” Yuri asked.

Yuuri laughed. “No, not the Japanese team. Look behind them”

The next country entered the stadium. It was a small delegation, about 1/8 the size of Russia’s, but they were dressed just as ridiculously in neon bright blue and yellow jackets.

And there—at the front—looking as serious and nervous as a soldier going to war, holding onto the Kazakhstan flag, was none other than Otabek Altin.

Yuri gaped at the screen. “Mother _fucker_ ….”

“Language!”

~~~

Otabek stood outside the entrance to the Olympic village. It was situated on a hill that overlooked the city and a few of the newly constructed sports venues. At nighttime, the city lights sparkled like stars in the cold sky.

Most of the other athletes were already in the village, either getting some rest before the start of their trails the next day or partying with their fellow teammates. It was no secret that Olympians had a tendency to go wild, as further proven by the classy ice buckets full of condoms stashed conspicuously around the building lobbies.

The other Kazakhs had sequestered themselves in an empty media room with countless bottles of soju and a group of rather beautiful snowboarders. They’d all very eagerly invited him to come, but Otabek wasn’t exactly a party type of guy and was most certainly not in the mood to try and pretend and woo any other athletes.

He wasn’t really in a hurry to get to bed early either. The mens single events didn’t start for another 6 days and there was nothing to do up until that time but practice.

Plus if he was being honest with himself, he was too keyed up to go to sleep.

The rush of carrying the flag in his first Olympics hadn’t left him yet. Nor had the immense feeling of pressure. It was obvious that his country and fellow teammates were expecting him to bring a medal back home. Many of them had even told him that he was Kazakhstan’s only real hope at medaling—which he was sure was supposed to be a compliment, but had just ended up putting more stress on him.

There were too many people who had sacrificed too much for him to let them down. His coach, who gave up a steady career in Moscow to train him in Almaty; his parents who paid to have their son take lessons all over the world; his sister who gave up a promising skiing career because it was too expensive to have two professional athletes in the same family. He needed to bring back a medal for them all and the pressure was intense.

“What am I going to do?”

And then, as if it was a sign from the heavens, a water bottle flew through the sky and hit his straight in the head.

“What…”

“You shithead!" Oh, it wasn’t the heavens after all “Are you never going to tell me about anything that happens in your life?”

Yuri’s angry face filled Otabek’s line of vision a mere second later.

“Yuratchka, what?”

“Oh, don’t you go Yuratchka-ing me, Otabek _fucking_ Altin. I thought we were best friends!”

Otabek didn’t think his parents would appreciate the new middle name Yuri had given him. “We are”

“Then how come you didn’t tell me that you were going to be a flag bearer? We even talked about the opening ceremony on our way here and you didn’t mention anything about it!”

Otabek looked down at the ground “It wasn’t really that big of a deal"

“Not a big deal?? If I were picked to be the flag bearer you wouldn’t hear me shut up about it for years” Yuri said, completely ignoring the fact that he had been complaining about flag bearers just hours before.

Otabek shrugged. “It would be a big deal for you, Russia has so many athletes. There’s only 42 of us. The others just do two other sports, speed skating or skiing. I’m the only figure skater so less drama if they picked me”

“Oh shut up” Yuri grumbled. “I know about your nickname, _Hero of Kazakhstan_. Everyone in your country loves you. That’s why they picked you”

Otabek’s cheeks were dusted with pink. “Ah…probably not but…”

“You can let yourself be proud sometimes, Beka” Yuri said, elbowing the other man a little “you’re an amazing skater. You’ve won so many medals and you did it all on your own. Of course you’re going to be the hero of your country. You’re the best athlete they have by miles. You could fuck up royally here—which you won’t since I’ll beat you up if you do—and everyone would still love you. And don’t forget that because there is no way in hell you’re going to get me to repeat this cheesy shit ever again”

Otabek just grinned, allowing a rare moment of pride fill his chest and chase away the insecurity and pressure that had been there before, if only for a few moments. “It was pretty great carrying the flag”

“Of course it was great! You looked like some sort of fucking army general walking out there. So badass.”

“How do your coaches deal with your mouth?” Otabek asked.

“Lilia tried to start a swear jar but then they all realized that if I actually had to use it, I wouldn’t be able to pay any of their salaries” Yuri said.

Otabek leaned his head back and laughed, amusement mixing with the pride and elation and wonder that was already there, creating a feeling that he couldn’t describe as anything but pure happiness. This was happiness. Being here in Pyeongchang with Yuri was happiness.

It was amazing how the younger skater was able to chase away those fears of failure and keep the immense pressure at bay in a way that no one else was able to.

“Do you still have your motorcycle?” Yuri asked after a few seconds spent in comfortable silence.

“I rented it for the whole two weeks, why?”

“Katsudon was telling me that there’s a bunch of cafes in Pyeongchang that are open 24 hours because of the Olympics. I want to try them all before we leave”

Yuri wasn’t exactly a cafe person, but he knew Otabek was. And he wanted to make this night about his best friend.

“Are you trying to get me fat before we compete?” Otabek deadpanned as he reached for his keys nevertheless. Yuri grinned and followed the older skater over to the car park.

“Not my fault that you always go straight for the pastries.” he sang out. The temperatures had dropped dramatically after it had gotten dark and the two of them walked closer to each other, trying to leech anything they could off of one another’s body heat. It seemed like everyone else outside had the same idea. Yuri watched as a couple walked past them. The girl has her hands in her boyfriend’s jacket pocket, head leaned on his shoulder. He felt slightly sick looking at them. 

“Hey, Beka….you…don’t have somewhere else you want to be right now, right?” Yuri asked, thinking about Mila. Wondering if he was taking Otabek away from her. Maybe he had even been waiting for her when Yuri had so rudely thrown that water bottle at his head.

Otabek’s mind went to the media room where he was sure his teammates were already well on their way to getting drunk and doing god knows what with those snowboarders. He shuddered.

“Not at all. What…about you? You don’t have somewhere you’d rather be?” Otabek asked, thinking about that hockey player’s excited chatter about sharing a room.

Yuri imagined going back to his room and listening to Alexi list off all of his great accomplishments or talk about his workout routine, or whatever it was that guys like him talked about. Or—even worse—having Alexi ask about Yuri and his personal life. He shuddered.

“Definitely not"

The two boys smiled at each other as they reached the bike. Yuri quickly climbed on the back, wrapping his arms around Otabek as the older boy slid on and started up the ignition. He buried his face into the back of Otabek’s hideous neon colored jacket and smiled. It was the second time today that his best friend had chosen him over Mila and Yuri couldn’t help but think that despite it all, this Olympics had gotten off to a great start.


End file.
